Do Me
by rockstarpeach
Summary: Sequel to 'Blow Me', in which Dean & Sam grudgingly exchange BJ's, because they like to get them in return. Here, they take the next step in their non-gay non-relationship. It's a good thing they can both be such jerks, or that might get awkward.


Title: F*** Me

Pairing: Dean/Sam

Rating: Adult

Word Count: 5,800

Summary: Dean and Sam take the next step in their non-gay non-relationship. It's a good thing they can both be such assholes, or that shit might get awkward.

A/N: Sequel to Blow Me, in which Dean and Sam don't like giving head, which makes sense, because they aren't gay, but since they both like _getting_ head, they sometimes decide to take one for the team.

***

It had been a slow week, for them. They'd only managed to find two jobs, and they'd been pretty easy work, both wrapped up in less than two days, so they'd spent the day in between jobs, as well as the past two, doing pretty much nothing.

They'd been checking the internet, and the newspapers, looking for something else, but so far nothing had come up that looked like it might be their kind of thing. So, they'd hustled some pool, sent in some credit card applications, and actually managed to get some rest.

Dean had lost at _rock paper scissors_, so he'd spent most of the afternoon at the Laundromat, while Sam sat on his ass back at the motel, drinking beer and watching football. Next time, Dean was going to throw paper. No really, he was.

He got back a little after six, with two bags of clean clothes, and supper from the diner, and managed to catch the last quarter, and see one team he didn't really keep track of beat another team that he was pretty sure was made up. Dean was really more of a baseball guy.

After the game was over, and their food was finished, and there was a pretty hefty collection of empty bottles littering the floor and side table between their beds, Sam flipped idly through the channels, and not so subtly settled on some soft core porn. He half shrugged to himself, pretending that there just wasn't anything else on, even though he'd flown right past a pretty awesome looking documentary about blowing things up, and tossed the remote down on the bed next to him.

"Really, Sam?" Dean asked, snorting around a grin, and Sam turned to look at him. "Cause, I know your moves need work, but… really?" Falling into getting each other off was usually a pretty easy thing, just a matter of a word or a touch when one of them felt the itch, and they hadn't needed porn to get them there since the first time.

"Screw you," Sam said, scowling, but his face turned a slight shade of red, and Dean snickered. They didn't do this often, but when they did, Sam wasn't usually so shy. Maybe the poor guy had been shot down trying to pick up some pretty girl at a snooty café this afternoon, and he was feeling all timid and delicate. It was kind of an amusing thought. "You wanna, or what?"

That was more like it. Had a little more asshole in it that most of his propositions, which usually consisted of one or the other of them grabbing their own or the other's crotch, and raising a questioning eyebrow, but that was okay. Neither of them was doing this shit because of the sweet seduction, or romantic pillow talk. They did it because they needed to get off, and somebody's touch besides your own was nice.

Even if that touch came from a dude. Who was your brother. It wasn't like they made out, and held hands. It was just beating off, and the occasional blow job, which while gross to give, was awesome to be on the receiving end of.

And with the mood Dean had been in lately, he sure as hell wasn't gonna turn down the offer. Especially since he sort of had something else in mind for this time.

"You know, with lines like that, I'm surprised you don't get laid more often, Sammy," he said, still smiling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dean," Sam shot back, but he was actually starting to smile too now, their usual banter helping to loosen things up. If they were kind of dicks to each other when they did this, it made gagging on each other's cocks feel a lot less gay. "Didn't realise all that cock-sucking had turned you into a woman. You want me to go get you some flowers?"

Dean snickered, and Sam's grin widened, and a loud groan from the television drew their attention back to it. They watched for a few minutes, as a busty brunette bounced around on top of some overly-muscled, extremely lucky, guy, her fake tits holding their perfect shape even as they jiggled.

After a really bad cut to a scene of the girl on her back, with her legs slung up over the guys shoulders, Dean cleared his throat, and looked over at Sam.

"So, I've been thinkin'," he said.

"I wondered what that smell was."

"Funny," Dean said, voice dripping sarcasm. "No, I mean… I haven't gotten laid in a while. And I mean _a while_."

"Yeah, what's it been now?" Sam asked, looking at the clock on the table, and then back to Dean. "A few hours?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and let out a small huff of breath. Okay, so he had spent two hours hitting on some girl over laundry, and he'd even managed to get a kiss out of her behind the row of dryers, but she'd left before he was finished, and hadn't given him her number. He'd been half hard since about four o'clock. "You do bitchy so well, Sammy. Just because you can't manage to get any, don't go taking it out on the one who got all the looks and charm in the family." He shot Sam a wink and ignored his snort of disagreement. "No, I'm talkin', like, _months_."

Four months, to be more precise. It had been almost four months. He'd been with Sam since then, but it wasn't like they screwed around often. Just enough to take the edge off, or to come down from the high of a hunt, or when they got really, really bored. And even when they did it was mostly just mutual masturbation with a bit of oral thrown in.

And it was mostly enough to get by on, but random, incestuous, gay hand jobs weren't exactly Earth shattering. Mostly because they weren't gay, and they weren't into each other. Dean wanted to fucking get _inside_ somebody, instead of just having Sam's hand perfunctorily pulling him to climax. Not that Sam's mouth wasn't great on the rare occasions that he got to use it, but he wanted more.

"Aww, Poor Dean," Sam teased, even though Dean knew it had been even longer since Sam had gotten any. "Losing your charm in your old age? Or just batting out of your league by hitting on girls with brains?"

Dean just scowled, and the fact that he didn't have some sort of snarky comment made Sam frown, and actually look at him, study what he knew must be the tight line of his shoulders and the slightly nervous way he bit his bottom lip.

"I think we should fuck," he said, impressed with how matter of fact it sounded. Sure, Sam wasn't some hot chick, but he was better than nothing.

Sam's eyes went comically wide, and his mouth opened and closed a couple times before he managed to speak. Dean barely managed not to look like he was enjoying that reaction a little too much.

"You mean like.." Sam started, and then paused, shook his head and licked his lips. "Like actually…."

"Fuck?" Dean supplied, with an amused smirk. "Yeah."

"Dean, just… No," Sam said, and his voice was higher than normal, a slightly incredulous edge, like he was starting to panic. Which was really pretty funny, when Dean thought about it. Sure, Dean was trying to act a lot cooler than he felt about this, because even though he wanted sex, and _fuck_, did he ever want sex, this was still _Sam_ he was talking about having sex with.

And that was… weird. And kind of uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than the first time they'd discussed the possibility of blow jobs. Only that time, it had been Sam pushing for it. Of course, that had been because Sam hadn't had one since he was like, nineteen or something, and okay, so maybe Dean was exaggerating, but Sam had _really_ needed one. And now Dean was the one going crazy from all those months without a lay, and _he_ was the desperate one. He took a small time out to damn Sam for his ability to go so long without. He was like, some sort of sex camel or something. Which… yeah, was a pretty disturbing thought, so he just stopped it right there.

"Why not?" he asked Sam, even as he mentally asked himself the same question. Why was this next step such a big deal? They'd already done just about everything else. And it wasn't like it ever meant anything besides a good time any other time Dean had ever done it.

"Because we aren't gay, Dean!" Sam practically shouted, and yeah, okay, so there was that. And they weren't. Still…

"And that's stopped us from, oh, everything else?"

"Yeah, but…" Sam protested weakly, and his eyebrows pulled together tightly, like he was actually thinking this over, instead of just dismissing the idea as if Dean was crazy.

"Oh, come on," Dean said, pressing his slight advantage. "You liked it when I had my fingers up there, didn't ya?" Sure, that had only happened once, and it had been months ago, and neither one of them had made any move to try anything like that since. But Dean knew damn well that Sam had enjoyed it. Hell, he'd even admitted that it had been 'awesome'. His exact word.

Sam blushed an even deeper shade of red than before and Dean smirked, got up off his bed and sat down on Sam's, cutting off any possible denial with a solid grip on Sam's crotch. Sam sucked in a sharp breath and pushed his hips up against Dean's hand, cock growing solid under Dean's touch. He let out a low groan and threw his head back when Dean's fingers squeezed, and with a satisfied grin that Sam couldn't see because his eyes were closed, Dean flicked open the button on Sam's pants, dug his fingers into the waistband, and pulled them down and off, along with his underwear.

He discarded them casually on the floor as he stood, and worked to strip himself from the waist down, and then got back on the bed, Sam watching him now. His hand went straight for Sam's cock, like it usually did, and Sam's for his, as Dean half sat, half sprawled over him.

They looked at each other for an awkward moment, because they didn't usually look at each when they did this, and then Dean remembered the television, and the porn, and he turned his head, Sam following suit.

The porn was… bad. And that same stupid chick, with the same stupid fake tits was still there, and it was a damn good thing she was hot, or Dean would have had to look away. Dean and Sam stroked each other, not so fast that they were racing for the finish line, but fast enough that they weren't drawing it out. They both needed to come.

And when Dean's fingers drifted a little lower on his down stroke, tickling over Sam's balls, he found them full, higher than normal and tight, like he was getting close. Good. That was what he was waiting for.

He pulled his hand away, sliding it over Sam's hip briefly before tapping it lightly with his fingers. He gave himself credit for looking straight at Sam when he gave him a little shove, and ordered, "Turn over."

"What? No," Sam said slightly bewildered and off balance from arousal, shaking his head. "Dean, we're not gonna…"

Dean shrugged and sat up straight, took hold of his own cock and started pumping. "Suit yourself," he said, like if Sam didn't roll over they'd both just be taking care of themselves tonight. It was complete bullshit of course. Dean would settle for hand jobs if that was all he could get, but he needed to give Sam a little incentive.

"Dean," Sam nearly whined, and looked at Dean's hand moving over his own prick with something like longing. "Don't be such a baby. Just because I won't…" And then he suddenly cut himself off, and his face hardened, and he looked straight at Dean. "And hey! Who the hell says that I'm the one who has to be the bottom here?! Not that, you know… we're gonna," he said, quickly backtracking, but it was too late. Dean knew he'd won. It was just a matter of waiting for Sam to catch up.

"Seriously?" he asked, seriously amused, and quirking his lip. What the hell did Sam think, anyway? There was no way in hell he was letting his little brother drive. Not the first time out, anyway.

"I'm not a girl, Dean," Sam groused, seeming to read Dean's mind. Or at least anticipate the joking insult that would be sent his way when Dean finished his thought. Dean glanced down and saw that Sam's erection was starting to wilt, and fuck, that was just going to make this harder.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from pushing a little more. "Could have fooled me, _Samantha_," he said. "Fuckin' nag and bitch like one."

"Are you fuckin'… You're high, right?" Sam asked, mockingly grasping at straws. "Or possessed?"

"Fuck, Sam, don't be such a pussy. It's just sex," Dean told him. "Besides, I blew you first when you asked, so it's your turn now."

Sam's expression changed at the word 'first' like Dean was hoping it would, and he could see the wheels turn inside Sam's head. Dean knew exactly what he was thinking, because it was the same thing Dean had gone through when Sam was trying to convince him that his cock would taste like cherry pie. Go down first, and it's your turn next. It was always how they operated, and it worked for them.

Reciprocity was implied, it was just a matter of who was willing to bite the bullet first.

After several seconds of contemplation, Sam seemed an odd combination of resigned and hopeful, and Dean was interrupted in trying to figure out what that meant, by Sam's voice, light and slightly uncertain, carrying a hint of a smile.

"Rock, paper, scissors?"

Dean just stared at him for solid five seconds, as Sam's face slowly fell into completely resigned. "Dude, I'm not an idiot," Dean said. Or, at least he wasn't enough of one to fall for that twice in one day.

They could both count on one hand the number of times in their entire lives that Dean had won at the game. At first, when they were younger, Dean had lost on purpose, letting his little brother win so he could get his way, and Dean wouldn't have to look like he was pandering, giving in. It would look like Sam had won something, the front seat, or the last bowl of Lucky Charms, fair and square.

Sam had even realised it after a while, and he'd gotten angry, telling Dean he didn't want to win like that. But now, it was different. And Sam didn't seem to mind taking advantage. Now, Dean was pretty sure the reason he lost all the time was muscle memory, learned behaviour after years of condition, like throwing a knife, or blocking a punch.

Because 99.9% of the time, on that third hit, Dean threw scissors. And sometimes, he was honestly surprised that he had, like he hadn't meant to, but he'd done it anyway.

So no. No way was he stupid enough to play that game when his ass, literally, was on the line. Sam was just gonna have to do this his way.

"Fine," Sam finally relented, after several agonising seconds, in which Dean actually thought Sam was going to tell him to fuck off, and leave Dean to beat himself off. "Just…" he sighed, and pursed his lips, looked down at his hands, which were resting on the bed just next to hips, and showing off his rapidly dwindling erection.

"Aww, don't worry, sweetie pie," Dean grinned at Sam's nervousness, and moved to lie down next to Sam. "I'll be gentle."

"Dude… fuck you. I can still stop this, you know?"

Dean resisted letting slip any of the several biting remarks that were sliding around on his tongue, because he knew Sam was telling the truth. He could, and would stop this, if he wanted to, so to try to prevent that from happening, Dean looked pointedly at Sam's cock, grabbed it tight in his hand and squeezed, moving his hand up and down, teasing it back to full hardness, Sam's soft pants and groans sliding over his ear.

It didn't take long before Sam was once again thrusting up into his grip, and Dean didn't want to waste any more time, didn't want to give his brother any more chance to change his mind. He gave Sam a nudge, gentle like he promised, and desperately hoped that fulfilled his obligation, because he kind of wanted the rest to be fast, maybe even rough.

Sam's body turned willing with his hand, only the hard, tense line of his back muscles giving away his apprehension, and Dean slid a comforting hand over the small of Sam's back, two slow swipes, and what actually surprised him was that Sam gave a small shiver, and visibly relaxed. It probably shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

He helped Sam up, a hand on his stomach, pulling, another one guiding his left leg, and then he let go kneeling up straight behind him, giving a sharp pinch to the perfect, round flesh of Sam's ass. God, it was a nice ass. Or, you know, that would be what Dean would think if he was gay. And hot for his brother. Which he wasn't. But from a strictly objective point of view, Sam's ass was just _begging_ to get stuffed full.

"On your knees, little brother," he said, turned on, but still completely amused, and sort of amazed, that he'd managed to get Sam in this position. But yeah, that had sounded totally stupid. And it was probably better if he just shut up for the actual sex part, like they usually did.

Dean had lube, and condoms, but they were all the way across the room, in his bag, and he just didn't feel like getting up and going all the way over there. Besides, Sam was a big boy, and he could take a little discomfort. And it's not like they had a habit of going out of their way to make it good for the other when they were the one getting off.

In fact, they tended to thrust their hips a little too hard sometimes, dicks hammering and chocking, making the other cough and wheeze when they could get away with it, because it was fun. And this would be _all kinds_ of fun, especially if he didn't have to worry about causing a little hurt. They were both used to that. So if Sam had a problem, he could say something. Hell, Dean might even listen.

He brought one hand to his mouth as Sam crouched into position in front of him, and his cock gave a very interested twitch, a small smear of pearly fluid leaking from the tip. He used his other hand to press again on Sam's lower back, a demand for compliance disguised as comfort as he pushed down slightly, encouraging Sam to bend, to arch his back so his ass tipped up, reaching the prefect angle, and so fucking inviting.

He used the middle finger of his spit-slick hand to slide up and down the crack of Sam's ass, pulling in the barest hiss of appreciative breath when Sam tensed, and then relaxed, tilted his hips up more, and made a focussed effort to breath.

Dean didn't bother waiting after the first sign of acquiescence, just slid the finger inside, because it wasn't like he hadn't done this before. Sam didn't seem to mind, just made a soft sound under him, and shimmied a little, so Dean quickly followed it up by pressing in another two fingers, at the same time.

That got a hiss out of Sam, and he shifted forward a little, almost pulling away. "Shit, Dean, watch it," he scolded, and Dean snickered, because on top of being ten kinds of hot, or at least as hot as having sex with a guy could get, this shit was pretty funny. And it was a damn good thing, because sticking his fingers up his brother's ass, and getting ready to fuck him, could be some kind of messed up, if there wasn't a certain amount of humour to take his mind off it.

Dean wiggled his fingers around, crooking them forward, which got him a pleasant sort of hum in response, and spreading them wide, which got him a pained sounding grunt. After almost a minute (which Dean thought was being pretty damn generous), of twisting and pumping, Sam had stopped twitching, and his breathing had evened out enough that Dean figured it was time to get on with it.

He wouldn't even have bothered with this much prep, except that he didn't want to hear Sam bitch about it. Also, he figured his chances for a repeat would be next to nothing if he actually made Sam cry.

He pulled his fingers free, watching the way Sam's hole closed up around the empty space, and he swallowed, mouth going dry, because _holy fucking shit_, that was gonna be wrapped around his cock in a matter of seconds.

Without a word he grabbed tight hold of Sam's hip, and lined up behind him, pushed forward slowly, so fuckin' slowly he thought he might bite clean through the lip he was worrying between his teeth. Once the head was fully inside, Sam's hole stretched around it, tight and red, Dean paused, loosened his grip on Sam's hip, and he might have rubbed a soothing circle over the bone, but probably not, because despite the way it sometimes came across, neither of them was actually a woman.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Fine, Dean," Sam grit out through clenched teeth, and Dean could feel Sam trembling slightly under him, trying his best to relax. "Just get on with it."

"Oh, always you with the sweet talk," Dean teased, and grinned to himself, before he grabbed Sam's other hip with his free hand, and slammed all the way inside, balls slapping against Sam's.

"Jesus _fuck_, Dean!" Sam screamed, and his entire body tensed. His shoulders pulled up tight around his ears, and when he craned his neck to the side, Dean could see that he had his eyes squeezed shut, and he was wincing. Heh. That must have smarted a little. Dean really should feel bad about that.

He dragged his cock out slowly, watching carefully, the length of his shaft and Sam's rim as it pulled around him, for any traces of blood. He didn't see any, so it probably couldn't be all that bad, he figured, as he slowly pushed back in. Sam let out a low moan, and definitely not the good kind, when Dean was deep inside him again, and Dean sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, like it would be a major inconvenience if Sam said 'yes'. And it fuckin' would be, because this? Was _amazing_! So Goddamn tight, and so hot, Sam's insides fluttering around him as his muscles spasmed from the effort of trying to hold still and open up. "I mean, I'm not gonna. Just, you know, wanted to know if you _want_ me to."

"No, it's…" Sam hissed, and broke off to cringe and dig his fingers deeper into the pillow. "It's fine. Just… just take it easy for a minute, okay?"

"Big baby," Dean muttered, but did as Sam asked, making his next few thrusts shallow, and soft. Dean had slept with a few virgins over the years, although none lately, but he knew how to take it slow, let them get used to it, make it good. Not that he was all that worried about making it good for Sam. He still owed Sam a lesson for that _forty fucking minute_ blow job Dean had given him a few months back that Dean had hated every second of.

"Okay," Sam said after a minute or two, his voice less strained, and Dean could feel him actually starting to relax under him, instead of just trying to. "It's… better. It still fucking _sucks_," he added. "But it's better."

Dean laughed, and started to move a little faster, push in a little further. "Are you tryin' to tell me I'm a lousy lay, Sammy?"

"Dean, I'm not even hard anymore!" Sam said, and it was funny, because he was actually fucking _pouting_. God, Sam was adorable sometimes. "Like, _at all_."

"Hey, that's _your_ problem, dude. I'd doin' just fine over here."

"Shit, you're an asshole."

Dean chuckled again, and smoothed a hand across Sam's flank, fingers curving around his hipbone, and into the hollow. His fingertips brushed against Sam's flaccid dick lightly, and he asked, "No, seriously, Sammy. You want me to..?"

Sam shook his head. "No, don't," he said. "Just hurry up and get it over with."

"Whatever you say," Dean told him, and did just that. And it was _awesome_. And over much too quickly for Dean, but he'd never been one to drag it out, not with Sam. This was one of those times he sort of wanted to, but if he wasn't going to go bother to make Sam enjoy it, hell if Sam was still uncomfortable enough not to even want him to, then it was probably better that it didn't last.

Sure, he could have taken it a bit easier with him at first, prepared him a little more, but it wasn't like he was violent or anything. Sam could be such a fuckin' pussy sometimes.

A few more strokes, deeper and faster and harder each time, until Sam was loose enough that he thought he could get away with it, and he picked up the pace, started to hammer into him, pulling almost all the way out, and slamming back in again, hips bruising the cheeks of Sam's ass with each thrust.

A couple dozen of those and he felt his orgasm start to build, balls pulling up tight, filling and needing to burst. He changed his angle slightly to get better leverage, and his thrusts became shorter, deeper, and he tumbled over the edge. He wasn't capable of words at that point, not even something lame and perfunctory, like 'fuck' or 'God', so he just moaned, and he was pretty sure he sounded like an idiot, but it was pretty fuckin' hard to care at a time like this.

When it was over he gave himself a few seconds, holding still, holding Sam still, and catching his breath, his balance, his higher brain function, and when he pulled free, it was with a deep laugh, and a sharp slap on Sam's ass.

He fell to the bed next to his brother with a contended sigh, still panting slightly. "Holy shit, Sammy," he said, when he could finally talk again. "We are _definitely_ doing that again."

Sam started to move next to him, pushing himself upright, but he froze, and swore, and tried to move a different way, more carefully and slowly, managing to shift onto his side, propping himself up with one arm, and legs resting slightly awkwardly to keep any pressure off his ass.

"Jesus Christ, Dean," he bitched, and yeah, Dean just knew there was going to be bitching at some point. And Sam even had the face to go along with it. Fuck. Way to ruin his orgasm high. "Were you actually trying to kill me?"

"You're fine," Dean sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a little girl."

"Whatever," Sam said, and yeah, still bitchy. That probably wasn't going anywhere for a while. "Get your ass in the air Dean. Your turn to take it."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Dean asked, amused, and not even bothering to hide his smile. "No way I'm lettin' you anywhere my ass with your dick."

In truth, Dean probably wouldn't have problem with taking it. Hell, he'd been with a few adventurous girls in his time, so it wasn't like he'd never had anything up there. Just… not his brother's dick, when he'd just gotten off, so he wasn't even close to horny.

"What?!" Sam shrieked. Just when Dean thought his voice had maxed out on the bitchiness, trust Sam to get even bitchier. "I just let you…" he said, and trailed off, and Dean smiled, because really it was kind of cute. Like a little kid whining because he shared a toy with a friend, and now the friend won't share back.

Dean snorted and tilted his chin up, so he was looking at Sam's face, instead of a random stain on the wall by the door. "That's 'cause you're an idiot. Besides," his smile broadened as his eyes trailed down Sam's body to land on his cock, soft and shrivelled, and lying in his lap. "You might have some trouble. You're not even hard, dude."

"Yeah, well, getting split in two by your brother's dick _is_ kind of a mood killer."

"Better luck next time, champ," Dean told him, eyes twinkling and clicking his tongue.

"I hate you."

"Nah, you love me," Dean said, and Sam's eyes narrowed. "Now stop your cryin' already, you big baby."

He got up and started for the bathroom, back turned to Sam, and when he was halfway across the room he could actually _feel_ Sam giving him the finger. "I saw that," he told him happily, and kept going.

He washed up quickly and came out a minute later with a warm wash cloth, and plopped down on the bed next to Sam, holding it out. Sam just looked at him, and Dean smirked, looking towards Sam's ass, that was no doubt sore, and messy. "Take it," he said, pushing the cloth out again. "Might want to clean yourself up."

Sam's face got bitchy all over again. Like, _epically_ bitchy, and Dean was momentarily worried that he might have gone a bit too far with this one. Then he got over it.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Sam said and turned, hissing sharply and wincing when it was too fast, or too far, or too something that made him hurt all over again. He sighed in frustration and took a breath, but before he could move to try again, Dean put a hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back down on the bed.

"Give yourself a few minutes," he told him. "It won't be so bad in a bit." Sam looked at him like he didn't quite believe him, and Dean remembered the first time a girl had used her fingers on him. He couldn't help smiling again, because he knew what Sam was going through. He hadn't been able to walk probably for the rest of the night, and he'd felt it for days. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell Sam that though.

It'd be a lot funnier when he found out for himself.

"C'mon," he said, and put a hand on Sam's hip, gently encouraging him to move. "Roll over."

Sam glared at him. "I am never fucking listening to you again, when you say those words to me."

"Oh relax, dude. Not for that," he told him, and waved the cloth in Sam's face again.

"Fine," Sam grudgingly agreed, and rolled, slowly.

Dean was careful when he cleaned him, noticing the slight twitches of Sam's ass and legs when he wiped around the tender hole, and Dean's spent cock gave an interested jolt at the sight. It was red, and raw, and had _Dean's fucking come_ leaking out of it and down Sam's legs.

He could probably get up for another round if he gave himself some time, but there was no way in hell Sam would even think about touching his dick at this point, so he filed the image away for later.

When he was done he tossed the cloth on the floor and curled up on the bed next to Sam, almost, but not quite, spooning against his back. He used the same hand that had cleaned him, and slid it up and over the swell of Sam's ass, and Sam jerked, not from any pain, Dean knew that, he just hadn't been expecting the touch.

He didn't stop though, and his hand moved higher, under his shirt and over his back a few times, and then around to his front, over his chest and stomach and lower. It was weird, this kind of lazy touching, and new, but it didn't feel _bad_, necessarily. Besides, he'd been kind of a dick. It was the least he could do.

"Dean, what are you..?"

"Shhh," Dean hushed, cutting him off. And then, just because he couldn't let this moment turn too gay, "You put out so pretty for me sweetheart, I gotta give you something, don't I?"

Sam shook his head, but Dean could hear him chuckle, felt his body jiggle slightly, so he moved his hand the last half inch, and cupped Sam's cock. It wasn't hard, but he hadn't expected it to be. He teased it a little, gentle kneading and soft strokes of his fingers, and Sam hissed again, only this time Dean knew it was from pleasure, because Sam was starting to harden, grow under his touch.

Sam was pretty quiet throughout, didn't move much, only let out a soft, high-pitched sigh when he spilled over Dean's hand. Dean held onto him for another minute after he'd finished, even though his hand was gross, and sticky, and he wanted more than anything to clean it off.

After he let go, he wiped his hand on Sam's leg, getting most of the mess off, sticking it to Sam's leg hair, and then he smacked him on the ass again, before he jumped up and headed for the bathroom.

He showered quickly, and threw on a new pair of boxers, and when he came into the room again Sam was sitting up on the edge of his bed, with his legs spread, looking down in disgust at the last bits of Dean's jizz trickling over his inner thighs, and his own smeared on the outside.

Dean passed him on his way to his own bed, and screwed up his face, sniffing at Sam. "Go shower," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "You stink."

Sam rolled his eyes, but stood, gingerly taking a step. "I swear to God, Dean," he grumbled, crossing the room and not bothering to look back. "Next time, I'm _so_ making you my bitch."

END


End file.
